


Being Where You Are

by aliengirlguy



Category: The Orville (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Humor, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Multi, OMC main character, Other, Pop Culture, Science Fiction, Unexplained Hair Growth, au-ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-01 05:44:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12698562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliengirlguy/pseuds/aliengirlguy
Summary: The story of Officer Bob and his adventures on board the Orville.





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to experiment with an OC in the Orville verse, using the outside perspective of a background crewman, just for the hell of it.

Lieutenant Roberto Derby, or “Bob” as he preferred, looked outside of the small shuttle window at the ship that was to be his first deep space assignment since he had finally managed to get of desk jockey duty at Union Headquarters on Earth.

“A beaut isn’t it?” the cheerfully peppy helmsperson chirped, a fond smile on their face.

Bob blinked and turned away from the sight of the space ship, shrugging.

“Its OK, I guess, then again they all have the same design, with just differences in sizes,” a pause then, “though this is the first time I’ve seen one with rotating rainbow pokedots.”

“Oh that, its only temporary from what I understand,” the short blond-haired pilot hummed, “The ship had a run in with a species whose method of diplomacy is playing pranks last I heard.”

Bob scratched his scruffy dark purple beard, reminding himself mentally to perhaps shave when he was situated.

“Who won?”

“Cpt. Mercer,” they said appreciatively with a dreamy little look, “used Hot Dog outfits.”

Bob was about to ask for an elaboration when the comm dinged, distracting them.

“ _Orville to shuttle Olivia Butler, we got you on our scanner, your cleared for docking in Shuttle Bay 2.”_

“Hey Gordon! Is that you?” the pilot said with deep satisfaction, “I’d been hoping you would be on duty on my arrival.”

The male voice on the other end sputtered, “ _Oh! Lieutenant Stiv! Er, didn’t know it was you, how…um, how are you?”_

Stiv’s blue eyes narrowed, “Don’t think that you can weasel out of that case of Marmosian Crackle Ale Gordy boy, I look forward to settling up once your off duty.”

Stiv turned off the comm and turned to Bob, who was unnerved to see that bright sun-shiny look back on their face, “So your new to the ship huh?”

“Um, yeah,” Bob sat back in his seat, looking back out the ship window, “it took a lot for me to get here but, yeah.”

“Really?” Stiv asked curiously, “The Orville isn’t exactly the flag ship of the Union or anything, you’re a lieutenant, you must have done a few rounds on other ships before.”

Bob shrugged, not saying either way.

When they docked the ship, Bob grabbed his service issue travel bag, tossing it over one shoulder, and disembarked, the shuttle already empty as Stiv had been a blur of red and black uniform, likely headed to find this Gordon person and settle up.

A deck officer found his file and directed him to the crew deck.

Bob saw a diverse group of officers and some civilian family members as he past, not surprising given this was a deep space vessel.

Admittedly, Orville would not have been his first choice really. Bob would have expected a posting on one of the combat vessels which tweeters always thirsty for security officers, even ones as mediocre as him. Exploration and Diplomacy vessels were the creme dead la creme of the fleet, only the best of the best worked on those vessels. But at this point he was willing to take anything, and his benefactor had stressed this was likely to be his only chance at a deep space posting, especially given his…record.

Well, he would just have to make do.

Bob’s quarters were a small single unit. The wall was a plain grey ship standard, the usual tasteful space inspired print, this one of Saturn, on the wall.

There was a small twin bed pressed up against the opposite wall with a soft serviceable grayish blue rug, and a metal bedside table and lamp.

The synthesizer was just outside the entrance to a serviceable bathroom, and finally a metal table and two union issue grey chairs in front of a window over looking the three thruster rings.

Bob knew that anything else he would have to go to one of the larger synthesizers for any other furniture and knick knacks, but then again, Bob was not overly concerned with decoration, though he supposed he could use a set of shelves.

Bob dumped his carry all on the floor and idly kicked it under he bed, then with a gusty sigh, fell back on the bed, grunting at the rather to firm mattress. Ok, maybe a softer mattress along with those shelves.

He folded his arms under his hands and stared up at the bland ceiling.

…Maybe a poster, a tasteful ancient history copy of the patron saint Ru Paul. He was always fond of the classics.

Bob knew that he didn’t have to report to Commander Grayson for the next 12 hours so he took the time to relax, and try very hard not to think of the past, instead savoring the questionable now.


	2. Reporting for Duty...heh 'duty.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took some liberties with the name of some of the tech. And no, this isn't a Mary Sue/Gary Stu character, in case anyone was wondering.

Bob yawned as he stumbled into the bathroom, his bright red uniform thrown over one shoulder, a towel thrown over another, an industrial sized lazer shaver in one hand.

He set everything on the closed lid of the toilet and set his shower onto hot, sliding under the pounding water with a deep sigh of satisfaction, taking a few moments to savior the warm watery massage, before he reached for the shaver and got down to his usual morning routine with a jaunty tune.

*Buzzzz!* Plop!

_"A little bit of Monty in my life..."_

*Buzzzz!* *zap* Plop! Plop!

_"A little bit of Eric by my side..."_

*Buzzzz!* Plop! *Buzzzz!" Plop!

_"A little bit of Rick is all I need..."_

*Buzzzz!* Plop! *zap* *zap* Plop! Plop! *Buzzzz!" Plop!

_"A little bit of Tim is what I see..."_

_*zap* *Buzzzz!" Plop! *zap* *Buzzzz!" Plop! Plop!_

"Phew!... _A little bit of Sammy in the sun..."_

Bob slapped his razor on the small shelf in the shower with a gusty sigh of relief, still warm.

_"A little bit of Martin all night long..."_

Bob grabbed the aloe soap and shampoo, and suds up the still slightly red skin of his freshly shaven torso.

_"A little bit of Jessie here I am..."_

Bob rinsed off and pushed back the plain off-white shower curtain, striking a dramatic pose in the steamed cubicle.

_"A little bit of you makes me your man...Mambo!"(1)._

When he was done, curly hair pulled into its usual careless ponytail and red uniform fitting like a glove over his body, feeling a little uncomfortable, but then again that's how he felt with most cloths nowadays, he thought a little sardonically.

Suddenly the computer buzzed, and the ship's prim voice announced in traditional Union standard.

"Per request, Reminder: Your shift starts in 15 minutes."

Bob let out a harsh cuss-word.

"Frogurt! not again!" Bob rushed around, grabbing his duty compad and quickly synthesized a bottle of orange juice and a piece of toast, then ran for the door.

It was as he was just swallowing the last of his toast, halfway to his destination when he was distracted by a resounding Squish!

Startled, Bob looked down to find his left foot buried in the center of a large greenish yellow blob.

Bob swore again, "Mother-fro!-sorry about that!" he apologized, removing his foot hastily.

The blob reformed and said easily, "Hey no problem! happens all the time!"

Bob rubbed the back of his head, "No really, I'm sorry, its really rude of me, I mean, my old roommate was a Gelatian, I should know better."

"Hey man, its all good, like I said, don't worry about it. Let me guess, new and the first day with the Commander?"

Bob scratched his morning shadow, "Yeah, how'd you guess?"

"I'm very personable, I know everyone on the ship, and they all know me, I throw some wild parties after all," a gelatinous tentacle came out and was offered to Bob who shook it, "names Yaphit."

"Lt. Roberto Derby, but I prefer Officer Bob, or just Bob."

"Hey man, nice to meet you. Say, when your off duty, you should totally swing by the Replomat and I'll introduce you to some of the crew."

Bob grimaced internally, but smiled and vaguely said, "er, yeah...OK, well, I got to go then."

Bob rushed off.

"Huh," Yaphit mused to himself as he watched the tail end of a purple ponytail zipped around a corner, then oozed along to Engineering, "Nice guy."

ooo ooo ooo

Bob's first impression of Commander Kelly Grayson, and consequentially, Cpt. Ed Mercer was that there was history between his command officers. History that consisted of Grayson being Mercer's Ex, and both being rather still sore over what had broken them up, this being Grayson cheating on Mercer and Mercer being inattentive.

It wasn't that he was an exceptionally good at reading people, in fact Bob was rather bad at that particular skill, but he did have ears, and the poor timing of walking into the Commander's office while the two had been in the midst of an argument that felt like it had worn out its welcome ages ago.

Bob was just inching his way towards the door, when the Commander cut the Captain off with a hand gesture and a sharp look, "Enough Ed! I don't want to talk about it anymore!"

"Fine then!" the Captain grumbled, then turned and was about to make a dramatically appropriate exit, only to find a rather uncomfortable looking man in the path of his exit. Ed briefly noted that this was one of the new batch of officers assigned to the Orville in the past few weeks. Judging by his pips, badge, and uniform he was either security, engineering, or operations.

This particular officer was about Ed's height, but his build was skinny, but broader in the shoulder, and a bit gangly, built like someone who had more muscle and weight at one point but suddenly drastically lost it. His chin had the beginnings of a fuzz on his narrow jaw. The most striking feature about him though was the long mane of dark purple hair pulled back into a loose ponytail of tangles and waves that rested down past his back, and thick dark purple eyebrows over dark eyes that looked out at the world from dark bags, behind a set of sturdy plain metal round framed spectacles that sat on the bridge of a prominent nose.

The officer hastily stepped out of Ed's way and saluted him as Ed past, who sent off a half tossed salute of his own, before exiting, the new officer already dismissed from his thoughts.

When the captain was gone, the commander huffed an annoyed breath, and took a seat behind her desk and said briskly.

"Take a seat Lt. Derby."

Bob hastily took a seat quietly.

"Well," Kelly said, pulling out a compad from the pile on her desk, giving it a brisk run through, "Roberto is it?"

"Bob."

"Yes, Bob. So, from what I read of our file, you were assigned to us as a security officer. Your record is a bit sparse in performance though," she tapped the screen, "from what I see here, you were a security officer at Union Headquarters on Earth, but then was transferred to Operations handling filing and communications for a few years before you applied for a return to security. According to your records, this is your first posting on board a space vessel."

Kelly raised her brow inquiringly, "You understand that working on board the Orville isn't exactly a peaceful position. We encounter a lot of dangerous and unpredictable situations and things. What I see in your file doesn't indicate any sort of experience in dealing with any actual dangerous situations. Your Academy record is...passable, but frankly I can't see why Admiral Halsey recommended you so highly for the ship."

Bob rubbed the back of his neck.

"The Admiral was a friend of Commander Charlston, my boss at the time, he called in a favor with the Admiral," Bob admitted honestly.

"Hmmm...must have been some favor, the admiral doesn't personally recommend just anyone."

Bob nodded wordlessly.

"Well, I can't exactly argue against the Admiral," the commander harrumphed, "but I have put an attention line at the beginning of your file for the head of security Lieutenant Kitan, that you have not seen actual field combat. She may want to test out your skills and you will likely need a bit of training to meet up with her standards."

"Yes sir," Bob replied dutifully. He had actually expected this. The Admiral had warned him that Orville's head of Security was very exacting with her security team.

"Oh and just a question," Kelly gestured curiously to his eyes, "The old style Earth glasses? I don't see those outside of holosuites."

Bob pushed the bridge of his glasses further up his nose in embarrassment, "Yes, well, I have a rare ocular disorder that is currently impossible to fix with medical science right now, and I wasn't keen on the cybernetic versions. I assure you though, my eyesight won’t be an impediment to fulfilling my duty."

"Well, I suppose that's all then, your dismissed. Just report to Security with this compad."

Bob accepted the compad and stood up, hastily retreating.

ooo ooo ooo

"Damn Frogurting Oreo holes!"

"Hey! watch your language!"

Bob picked himself up from the opposite end of the room, rubbing the newest patch of bruises that was quickly developing on his aching body.

The woman that had thrown him across the holosuite, currently depicting a large Earth style dojo, set her arms on her hips.

"Well, I have to say, while your use of filthy vernacular is impressive, your lacking in pretty much every other quarter."

Bob's aching shoulders slumped as Security Chief Alara Kitan laid out specifically what he did wrong. Listing everything from his stance, to his interrogation tactics (he had been the first security officer to somehow be held hostage in a bear suit, a new record).

Alara sighed, rubbing the fine ridged indents in the bridge of her nose.

"Look, I'm sure you’re a decent guy, but have you considered maybe...trying out in another department?"

Bob shook his head.

"I've always known I was supposed to be a security officer since I was little, there's never been anything else."

Alara bit her lip. This was the part she hated about being head of security. Having to be firm and do what was best for the ship first and foremost, and Officer Bob just didn't have the skill set that was best for the ship. Still, she was willing to give the man another chance so that she didn't have to fire him before he even started.

"Help me out here Bob, is there anything, anything at all that your good at? I mean you passed your exams. It wasn't the best marks, but something had to nudge you into passable."

Bob rubbed the back of his head, "well, I have good aim."

Alara perked slightly at this, "your good with a weapon?"

"Well...no," Bob said honestly.

Alar deflated, "how can you have good aim if you can't use a weapon?"

"Well, when I throw things I never miss."

Alara raised an eyebrow.

"That doesn't make sense, and its impossible besides."

"Well, not really, I've just never missed when throwing anything, rocks, balls, mannequins, not once. Not since I was a kid."

The other eyebrow went up.

"Alright then big shot, give me a demonstration," she gestured to the holosuite.

Taking to mean that he now had control of the program, Bob thought for a moment, then recalled the first time he had realized his unique talent, and pushing his specs up his nose (which really didn't need it as they were secured by his action bands), he called out.

"Computer, recreate a Union Academy Standard Gymnasium with a basketball hoop and a basketball."

The dojo dissipated to be replaced by the requested setting.

Bob bent down and picked up the basketball, dribbling it experimentally and flushing when he nearly lost it under the bleachers.

Alara rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest, her petite frame practically signaling that she was ready to think him a lost cause.

Bob coughed, the ball secured now in his long fingers and said out loud, "Okay, watch me make this basket."

With that he hauled back and tossed the ball towards the net.

The ball bounced off the rim, going upwards, bounced against a roof beam, ricocheted off another beam, then there was a satisfying swish as the ball went through the hoop.

Alara blinked, "That was a lucky shot, but hardly impressive, I don't see how this..."

Bob threw the ball again, this time in the opposite direction of the goal.

The ball slammed into the baseboard of the opposite net and sailed over their heads and through the net.

Bob chased after the ball, picked it up and tossed it in every direction conceivably possible all over the gym, but every single time, the ball, somehow, was all swish each time.

Bob wiped his brow and settled the ball under an arm.

Alara continued to blink repeatedly. There were moments where she tried to say something, but then her mouth closed, not knowing how to address what she just saw.

Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, Alara gathered herself and said with feeling.

"That...was awesome."

Bob rubbed the back of his head, his body language displaying 'aw shucks.'

"Now let’s see what happens in a battle simulation," Alara clapped her hands eagerly.

Bob groaned internally.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Altered song lyrics from the song "Mambo No.5" by Leu Bega.


	3. Quinoa

Bob groaned as he practically crawled into the Replimat several hours later. He mumbled something incoherently to the synthesizer and took the bowl of something that looked vaguely like wet sand.

He frowned down at his trey, and was just working up the energy to make another, more coherent, order, when an extremely thin man with a giant adams-apple barked.

"Hey buddy! get a move on, there are others waiting to synthesize their dinner here!" Bob hastily grabbed his trey and a glass of something that looked like six-year-old egg salad left to ferment. He took the closest empty seat he could find in the crowded eatery and focused on his meal.

Much to his surprise, whatever the stuff in the bowl was, it wasn’t half bad, and the green chunky sludge in the glass was surprisingly sweet smelling and tasted like a cross between cinnamon and Mandarin oranges.

"I had not thought humans enjoyed ook slab'd."

Bob looked up, his eyes widened when he beheld a huge figure of muscle. He swallowed a little too deeply in reaction and coughed as some of the tasty sewer green sludge made a u-turn down the wrong tube.

The alien mountain helpfully gave him a brisk slap on the back, which only benefited in sending him half way across the table with a wet "glak!" escaping his lips.

Another set of hands steadied him, and he found himself being dusted off by a slightly shorter version of the first alien. The second being was in civilian garb, unlike the first, and had an infant strapped to his chest, which was cuddling a red nosed reindeer plushy.

"Bortus! How many times do I have to tell you to be careful with the humans? They are some of the frailest things in the Union! You should know better," his rescuer chided.

"I apologize," Bortus rumbled stiffly to Bob.

Bob shrugged, and said, "No prob. And yeah, this ook slab'd stuff is really tasty. May not look pretty, but it really hits the spot. I wonder why it’s not more popular?" Bob took a seat as the family also joined him.

"Captain Mercer once said to me when I offered him a sample that it reminded him of something called 'teenage mutant ninja turtles' and how they wanted their sewer juice back,' whatever that means."

Bob frowned scratching his goatee, "can't say I know what he's talking about myself, sounds like some weird holo-program reference or something."

After that, Bob, Bortus and his mate Klyden who introduced himself, ate companionably, Bortus talking at length about the benefits of Moclan culinary, while young Topa in his carrier napped contentedly.

If there was one thing that Bob appreciated about Moclans, it was that conversation was usually short, clipped and to the point, thus easier to handle. If there was a wain in the conversation, it was never awkward. It was just nothing more needed to be said in the pause, and quiet moments in company was treated with the same affability as good talk. Even when the baby woke up and began to fuss, it didn't last long as Bortus reached into a pocket somewhere and pulled out a bottle of nutrient slurry, the baby immediately calming on the teat and everything comfortably quiet again.

ooo ooo ooo

Bob looked around shiftily as he peeked his head into what looked like a small conference room. It was clean, spartan and fortunately empty.

He slipped inside and pulled out a small tube. Inside the tube was a smaller tube of sticky greenish-blue paste wrapped tightly in lavender blue paper-like material.

He flicked his lighter and lit the tip in the green flame, flicking it closed and stuffing it back in his uniform pocket before he settled back in a seat and took a long draw.

Bob's eyes fluttered closed as the sweet bitter taste, as if his insides were being slowly messaged by fluffy dense bubbles. "By the Universe I needed this," Bob groaned, "what a day!"

Bob felt tense sore muscles from training ease and he let out a content hum as turquoise smoke coiled around his head, dancing by the tips of his purple hair and thick eyebrows.

He hadn't been able to find a solitary place to indulge since he had come aboard a week ago. Neighbor was a Stifflgent, a species known for their keen sense of smell (though considering they have five nostrils it was given), which made it difficult to have a discreet moment like this to himself.

 _"I've got no roots, but my home was never on the ground, I've got no roots, but my home was never on the ground..."_ he hummed under his breath, _"I like digging holes, hiding things inside them, when I'll grow old, I won't forget to find them..."_ (1).

"Hey man not bad, but totally the wrong tone," another voice intruded onto his solitude.

Bob 's eyes widened slightly, but his muscles were currently to relaxed to react properly to the sudden intrusion.

The man who had spoken was a human in his late thirties-early forties with short red hair and messy goatee. He held up his hands,

"Hey, no worries here friend," then held up a gleaming silver flask, shaking it, "I won’t tell if you don't, sharsies?"

Bob grunted and waved languidly at a chair next to him.

The man let out a grunt of pleasure as he sat in the chair next to him, taking a discreet sniff of the coils of smoke around the new security officer, he gave a whistle of approval, "Peruvian Bliss-Stick? And..." *Sniff!* "Do I detect a hint of ginger?"

Bob let out another breath of fog, "Yeah, I use the fresh stuff to cut the Blisswort, none of that dried out synthetic crap. Grow my own plants."

"Niiiice!" the red head hummed, taking a swig of his flask, "I like my vices of the liquid variety personally, but I used to hit the Bliss-sticks back in the academy," he held out his flask, "name’s Gordon Malloy, I pilot this tin can."

Bob took the flask and handed over the half-burned stub, "name's Bob Danse, I get my ass tossed into this tin can."

Gordon, who was already somewhat tipsy, chuckled and held up the tote, "to the tin can then."

The two dinked their respective vices and sucked down burning air and drink.

Bob let out a grunt, coughing "holy! what the hell is this stuff? it tastes like liquefied dylitheum!"

"You’re not the only one who makes their own home brew," Gordon coughed, "wow..."*cough!* *hack!* "...smooth."

The two of them shared a look and burst into laughter which quickly devolved into coughing fits.

ooo ooo ooo

Bob stroked his long beard thoughtfully, the tip tucked into the waist band of his pajama bottoms as he reclined back against the plush pillows of his Union Issue bed, going over old reports of various missions conducted by the crew of the Orville, particularly those revolving around the core command staff and a few other crew, one of which he was amused to note, was his drinking/smoking buddy Gordon.

_"...The giant Insectoid species of Parsis 13.5 we would soon find, considered a sense of humor a mortal sin by their local theology. Unfortunately, our captain seems to make a joke with every other sentence, and while he tried very hard in the first hour, they were not amused when he forgot himself and out slipped the heinous "have you carried off any good sandwiches lately?" I surmise that this is because of the ambassador resembling a giant form of an earth insect called an ant. Their retribution was swift as the captain's throat was slit. Fortunately, the injury was not to deep and we were able to get him to medical in time..."_

Bob grimaced, laying aside the file and grabbed another from the top, and wincing when he read of a security officer who had been encased in a substance similar to Earth chocolate, and was summarily devoured by a hoard of horny singles using the officer as an aphrodisiac during some sort of mating ceremony, which also included a floor show during the devouring (2). Commander Grayson had only escaped a similar fate by pretending to be horribly ill.

Bob placed the PADD in the overflowing basket next to his bed, removing his glasses, and setting them on the bedside table, rubbing the bridge of his nose. No wonder the chief was grilling new recruits so hard. The Orville was a flying den of pure dumb luck and surprises around every corner, and he wasn't referring to the good variety of either.

He slid under the covers of his bed and closed his eyes, determined to relax, get some sleep and try not to wonder if he had what it takes to be an officer of the Orville.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Song lyrics from “No Roots” by Alice Merton.  
> 2\. References an old Axe commercial, seriously creepy commercial, found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pAmiCwyrBfk


	4. Marclar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays all! Here is two short chappies to enjoy.

Bob scratched the stubble on his chin as he stared down at the PADD in his hand as he ran for the transporter room.

Two weeks of nothing but training, disappointment, and a fog of turquoise relaxation with his new drinking/smoking acquaintance, and suddenly the Chief wanted to assign his arse, last minute, to the landing party as extra security on the singularly most important planet of the Union. The seat of power and setting in which the beginnings of the grand federation of planets and species was founded.

“How’s your history of Marclar?” Gordon whispered in aside to Bob, panting slightly, taking position behind the Captain, first officer, and the Chief beside Gordon and another Security officer, a slim human woman with short blond hair, the two of them gave a barely their nod.

“I got such bad grades in history at the Academy,” Gordon sighed.

Bob rubbed the back of his head in thought.

When the two of them finished transporting, Bob said thoughtfully as the group began trudging through the lush foliage, the rush of water falls the serration of alien life humming contently in the background.

“Marclar was home to an advanced bipedal species that had already established first contact and treaties with 12 other planets before one of their ambassadors touched down on Earth 300 years ago, just after the end of World War 5.5. I think it was in New Ethiopia.”

Bob paused in his exposition to eye a rustling bush wearily as he continued with his history lesson.

“The Marclar ambassador unfortunately ran afoul of one of the numerous mutant Lion prides who were in the middle of a song number. Unfortunately for him it was "Can you Feel the Love tonight," and thus didn't make it out alive. In the aftermath, one of the locals, a child named Marvin Click, found the abandoned ship, boarded it out of curiosity, and became trapped inside when the ship engaged its autopilot and left Earth with the terrified child still inside.

"Upon arrival at planet Marclar, they were taken in by the Marclars, and in the process learned the local lingo and customs. When Click had absorbed all they could of the Marclar teachings, the Marclars sent them home with a contingent of Honour Marclars, and through them and Click, Earth joined the Union.”

Bob yelped when the Chief shot a stunner in the general direction of the rustling bushes and landed smack on whatever the creature had been. An inhuman screech erupted from the bushes and ran off in the underbrush.

The group continued on when Alara holstered her phaser, another security guard, another new guy who had come on board only a few days ago, had ascertained the potential predator had gone or wasn’t accompanied by others.

“Anyway, being invited to the Heart of the Union, the Marclar Homeworld Capital, is considered a great honor,” Bob continued, then turned a considering look on the Captain, “the captain must have done several very, very good somethings  to earn an audience with the Main Marclar.”

“Well, Ed’s done quite a few things,” Gordon said with a grin as his chest puffed out in pride for his best friend, then added thoughtfully, “Or they called him here personally for his Banana Bread recipe.”

 For the Heart of the Union, it was surprisingly very low key, technology wise. Each structure was a 3 story tier of huts covered in some sort of luminescent moss with interweaving vines that somehow grew into natural bridge-like pathways that climbed from doorway to door way, and covered in the same luminescence as the buildings. Marclar City, if one could all it a city, was in a loose circle surrounding an open bowl in the ground large enough to sit several Orville's comfortably. The Marclar arena was where many meetings and gatherings were held, and just after rainy season, was a popular spot for Marclarclar, which roughly translated into "Bloodwater" in Standard, that Bob remembered his professor in Xeno-History was explained as a cross between Gladiatorial Combat and  Water-polo.

"Its a shame its not Marclarclar Season," Alara sighed, looking at the shiny, but dry sides of the stadium gleaming in the sunlight as they entered Marclar City.

Bob and Newest Recruit (Bob made a mental note to ask their name at some point), took up opposite positions on the small raised porch in front of the Head Marclar's home and waited patiently for the captain, first officer, Gordon for some reason, and the chief to finish their meeting.

If the captain was receiving an honor for services well done, it was surprisingly short, lasting only ten minutes at most, and the Captain came out looking unusually grim. Bob and New Recruit exchanged the briefest of looks, but otherwise non-commendably took up flanking positions, tense and alert for trouble, taking que from their commanding officers tension.

No one relaxed until they beamed on-board and they were dismissed.

When Gordon and Bob met up the next day for their usual drink and smoke, Gordon drank his entire flask, then pulled out another and interspersed it with one of Bob's extra strong sticks. Gordon didn't say what had gone down in that meeting, and Bob didn't ask. When Gordon had gotten himself into blissed out stupor, Bob hauled the red head into a fireman's carry and toted him to his quarters, since he didn't really know where Gordon's were, and let the man stay on his couch.

ooo ooo ooo

_8 hours later..._

Gordon groaned, rubbing his throbbing temples as he looked around himself blurrily.

He found himself in a sparse crew quarters. He frowned, and held the vague hope that he had perhaps stumbled home with a pretty something during his latest binge.

He stumbled out from under the blanket that had been draped over him and the couch that he had been tucked on.

"Guess not," Gordon grumbled and stumbled towards the general direction of the bathroom, wondering if he had accidentally wandered into empty crew quarters again. It wouldn't be the first time. Mindlessly, he stripped out of his uniform and tossed it in the synthesizer, replicating a fresh uniform and stumbled to the bathroom to clean up, grab a much needed coffee with a bit of after morning chaser before hitting the bridge.

He was so preoccupied and muzzy with his hangover and the stirring memories of what had lead him to go full throttle on the alcohol and....yes, he remembered now, Blisstick with Bob, the good stuff, damn what an awesome friend! that he didn't realize that the bathroom was occupied until the doors whizzed open silently, enveloping him in a wall of steam.

He blinked the mist from his eyes, and when it cleared he found...

"AHHHHHH!"

"...Oh Chessus."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know its short, but the chap is needed as set up for later plot. 
> 
> And yes, in case you hadn't caught the reference, the Marclars and the story of Earth's entrance into the Union is based off references I made to the episode "I'm a Little Bit Country" from South Park.


	5. The Purple Fuzzy Wuzzy

Yaphit yawned as he slimed his way back to his quarters after yet another shift and yet another failed attempt to talk to Claire, the Doctor of his heart, (figuratively speaking of course, since he didn't have any actual organs, but enjoyed the Earthen term anyway).

Ever since the fiasco with those pheromones, and their one and only steamy time together, the two of them had not exchanged a word since then. Yahpit sighed, why was love so complicated?

Right now, he was just looking forward to a little easy listening tunes and some quality time letting loose as a puddle on his bedroom floor. Just him and the floor fibers.

He was just oozing around a corner when he was nearly run through (for the gazillionth time) by the naked hairy feet of Gordon who politely leaped over him in his terror, his hairy full moon the last thing he saw as the man careened around a corner.

Following hot on his heels was a giant sudsey purple creature yelling "Wait! Gordon!" it called out in standard as it tried to keep up.

Yaphit, under the assumption that some mysterious hairy monster had invaded the ship and was chasing his naked comrade, he shot out a tentacle of slime, clenching every molecule of his form and managed to trip the alien.

Yaphit whipped out his Union issue phaser, and stuck it in between the intruder's eyes, which crossed comically as it froze.

"Hold it right their hairball!" Yaphit said with what he thought was heroic aplomb.

He went for his communicator only to pause when a very familiar voice emerged from the bipedal lavender toupee.

"Wait! Yaphit, its me! Its Bob! I ran over you a few weeks ago remember? um, I was the previous new guy attached to security?"

Yaphit frowned and realized that the vocal vibrations that were emerging from grape flavored shag man was indeed recognizable.

The purple creature was released, and his phaser disappeared into his left side.

Two long haired purple hands reached up and pulled aside to reveal a slightly familiar human face looking down at Yaphit with embarrassed dismay.

"Wow, what happened to you?" the gelatinous engineer asked the obvious, "you look like you got hit with the hairy stick one to many times."

Bob sighed and gestured for Yaphit to follow him back to his quarters.

The slime green officer took the offered chair and Bob quickly went back into the bathroom to take the quickest rinse and laser shave possible. When he emerged 20 minutes later, clean shaven, trimmed and dressed in his uniform he took a seat across form Yaphit with a sigh, pulling out a blissstick and lighting it up.

"I normally don't smoke these in my quarters, sensitive neighbor, but I think I need it, Great Nougat! I'm screwed!"

"Hey now, it can't be all that bad..." a pause then , "Actually what I just saw was pretty messed up, never mind that, just start from the beginning."

Bob leaned back in his chair, his blissstick dangling from the corner of his lip as he considered where to start.

"I guess it goes back to my time stationed on Earth. I was working security at a storage facility at the main Earth Union Headquarters," Bob took a drag, tapped the ash into a nearby ash tray, "I wasn't very good at my job to be honest. But my fathers and mothers, and my elder sisters were pretty well decorated officers, and as far as my family was concerned there was this expectation you know? that I would be just like them, achieve great things for the Union."

"Yeah, I know how that is, my mother was into art, and before that when she was my brother, he was into cooking before he changed careers. I think she always expected that, being a literal blob of the ol 'Slime, I would take on the artistic mantel like her. But I just love oozing through machine parts, fixing hard to reach places, juggling quantum mechanics and Interstellar mapping the way that my cousin/grandpa could actually juggle...yeah."

"Wish it was that easy for me," Bob sighed, "never had much talent beyond following orders, and even then my capabilities is average to mediocre at best," Bob let out a puff of smoke, "anyway, I don't really know how it started but there was this fire one night while I was on duty, a bunch of barrels of stored mysterious alien material whose make up is so classified its above my clearance even after the fact, exploded and I got drenched into the stuff. Smelled like the ass end of...well, an ass. Burned like hell to and made me itchy for weeks."

Bob inhaled a particularly deep drag, "I woke up in Medical three days later, the great purple yeti you saw. They tried treating it of course, it turns out that it affected my hair growth rate. I shave every morning, and by the end of shift I have a full beard and a hairy rug under my uniform. I usually use my breaks during shift to go back to my quarters for a quick shave."

"Wow, that sucks man," Yaphit said with feeling.

Bob nodded, a stream of smoke stuttering from his nostrils, "Yeah. If it wasn't for my well heeled folks and their even more influential connections, I likely would have been swept under the rug somewhere, living out my days being clipped and prodded in one of the Union's super secret facilities. Which I know for a fact was where I was headed until some admiral intervened and had me stationed on the Orville," the man laughed, "and you want to know what the kicker is? I've always wanted to be stationed on a ship, somewhere far, far away, but I was never good enough for deep space," Bob put out the stub, "never cared how I got into space, just wanted to be far away from...everything. But one little accident and now I got what I wanted," Bob laughed, but it was a dry thing, "isn't that a kick in the pants?"

Yahpit cocked the top half of his body thoughtfully, then said finally, "Well, that's quite a hairy situation you're in."

There was a beat of silence as Bob processed the lameness of the joke before him, then a giggle erupted form his lips which evolved into a full fledged belly laugh, and was soon joined by Yaphit who at some point asked "why are we laughing? that was horrible!"

"I...I...-ha ha!- don't -wheeze!- know!."

When they were done, Yaphit slid off the chair and the two of them left Bob's quarters. Before they separated, Yaphit told him more seriously, "Hey, don't worry about, your hairy disposition, I mean it sucks that it happened and all, and trust me I won't tell, and no one will believe Gordon's stories of a giant hairy purple monster after a drinking binge, so your secret is safe, but my advise would be to not look at The Orville as an escape or as the plus side to a crappy situation, but as an opportunity."

Bob hummed thoughtfully as the two separated and he headed in the direction of the holideck to get his ass handed to him, thinking.

ooo ooo ooo

Meanwhile...

"Bortus to Captain," came the deep baritone from Ed's combadge on the bridge.

"Captain here," Ed said cheerfully, biting his tongue as a bright red yo-yo was beginning its final swing into an epic Triple Decker Walking the Seflapod.

"It seems that Lieutenant Mallory is under the belief that he is being chased by a large hairy alien intruder-"

"Purple!" came the faint outcry in the background.

"Issac can you check the computer for any foreign entities?" Captain Mercer continued, working the plastic toy around a finger, about half way through now.

Almost instantly, Issac, the ship's resident Artificial (and Issac would be quick to add, Superior) Life-form said in his smooth business-like tone "the systems show no foreign entities on board the Orville, though according to my scans of Lieutenant Mallory, who is currently situated beside Lieutenant Commander Bortus in the Commissary, his system is showing an alarming amount of foreign chemicals, many of which are reputed to impair the judgment-"

"I get it, Gord's either drunk, high or a combination of both, or at least hungover," Ed rolled his fingers as he curled his pointer finger, tongue sticking out, "tell Gord to relax, its just a very pickled false alarm," Ed said to Bortus on his combadge.

"Yes, well," Bortus cleared his throat audibly, "it would seem that the lieutenant is insisting that he give you his report about his encounter with a possible witness."

Ed sighed, getting to his feet, the red plastic rounding the final corner in his dancing fingers, "Alright, I'll be down."

"Alright sir, and Mallory is also in need of a pants as well."

Ed yelped as his fingers slipped from position and the happy red yo-yo slammed into Ed's face.

Ed groaned while Commander Greyson and the rest of the bridge crew snickered.

 


End file.
